


Time makes desperate men

by fictionisthebetterreality



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Chair Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, NSFW, Praise Kink, Trust Issues, criminal harold, i dont even know, i dont know what came over me, i guess, i just rly rly like praisekink john, i never write nsfw, ish, power bottom harold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9795305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionisthebetterreality/pseuds/fictionisthebetterreality
Summary: Reese has been tracking Finch down for three years after an abandoned base and a scribbled letter, and has finally found him. Locked in a small room together, with John tied to a chair, their reignited connection is a lot stronger than either man is prepared to deal with.OrGive me all the praisekink!John's that melt when powerbottom!Reese reassure/praises them during sex plsIdk what this is, seriously





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unconditional Surrender](https://archiveofourown.org/works/746034) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat). 



> Ohhhh my god, thanks for checking this out
> 
> Here's hoping you enjoy, I wrote this in about three hours after starting season 2 of POI and I'm still not entirely sure what is happening (also my excuse for any errors you see, feel free to point them out)

Muffled noise reaches him, accompanied by shrill ringing. John wakes up groggily, his head aching fiercely as he automatically recollects his last memories. He’d been outside, fighting a group of people. Three had been behind a rusted car, firing odd shots with disarming accuracy while three more made their way around the sides, trying to get him from the sides. He’d been behind a support column, a building behind him, and he’d thought his back was covered but… another person? That seemed about right. He’d sensed movement and turned, and the last thing he’d seen was a black blur and a woman’s face.

Coming to, he realised without opening his eyes that he was sitting, hands tied behind his back with some sort of tie. Soon the ringing faded out and voices became clear, two people involved in what sounded like an argument. Lifting his head, he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Where had he been taken? He’d needed to find those people, to find them so they could -

So they could lead him to –

_Harold._

Maybe he made some noise, maybe he simply felt John’s eyes on him like he’d always been able to, but as soon as he saw him, Harold was turning, looking at John, staring at him with an expression seeming torn between anxiety and annoyance.

“Harold.” His name came out a dry croak, and he leaned forwards almost unconsciously, wrists pulling painfully at the bonds. Three years. Three years it had been, and he hadn’t changed. Not even the clothes he wore. Here they were in 45 degree heat and he was still wearing that brown overpriced suit, with the shiny loafers and round glasses. Harold froze for a moment, stock still, before dismissing the woman he was talking to and approaching.

The room they were in was small, some sort of office, and with the door shut it seemed almost painfully intimate. John was already having bittersweet flashbacks of times before, times spent in their hideout, in his apartment, of sweet nothings and broken shouts and – he shut it down. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He managed mostly to avoid those memories, had shut them in a little box in the back of his mind, but Harold’s face in front of him was rattling it so much the hinges were coming loose.

Even sitting, Harold wasn’t that much taller than John, and it didn’t take much effort for him to catch his eye. Neither said anything for a moment, and John busied himself running his eyes over Harold’s face, noting all the small differences, of which there weren’t many. A small scar by his eye, wrinkles slightly deeper. His eyes were still the same, brown and kind, and assessing.

“Harold.” John said it again, and this time it came out on a sigh, of relief, of sadness, he didn’t know. But something in it seemed to tug at Harold, for he swayed slightly, eyes widening a fraction.

“John-“ Three years or not, John knew that tone. The pleading desperation in it. Again he was pulling at the ties, desperate to fix it, to make it better, to stop his suffering –

Harold’s lips were like coming home.

Muscle memory was in overdrive, and Harold’s hands on his face were the best thing John had felt in years. A needy groan was drawn out of him with little force and he couldn’t even be embarrassed about it. All that mattered was that Harold was here, he was here and he was kissing – and he was _safe_.

He drew away, just out of range of John’s restricted reach, and soft pants filled the space between them.

“I missed you,” John blurted, entirely uncharacteristically, and maybe once upon a time it would have taken a lot more than one kiss to make him admit it but three years were a long time and he had, he’d missed him with a pain that never went away, a space in his heart he could never fill. Harold’s eyes darted up to meet John’s, surprise evident.

“You – you did?” his tone was heartbreakingly tentative, his eyes desperately searching for the lie that wasn’t there.

“I did,” John murmured, leaning his forehead against Harold’s, needing the contact. There was a pause, Harold mulling over his words, chewing them over, his trust issues enough to rival even John’s.

“I, uh. I missed you. Too. I missed you, too.” Closing his eyes, John embraced the pain Harold’s words wrought. To hear the admission of love, maybe not in so many words but love all the same, filled his heart with joy and shattered it in the same beat. Because he knew Harold, knew this couldn’t last. Harold didn’t trust him, didn’t think he could protect him. That was why he had left, no matter what he’d wrote in that letter scrawled and left pinned to the glass board.

“Harold, please. Please-“ John didn’t know what he was asking for, hardly knew what he was saying. He knew he wanted Harold, had wanted Harold ever since he’d disappeared three years and four days ago, and knew Harold was _here_. Nothing else mattered, in this moment.

The moment turned still, as though the slightest disturbance could shatter it, interrupted only by the slightest of breaths. Then John tilted his face up, or maybe Harold tilted his down, and then all John could think of was _Harold_. The past three years ceased to exist, and John was back in that abandoned building, chained to some stationary item while Harold teased and cared and –

The sounds of rustling and zips filled the room, accompanied by harsh gasps and pants. John’s emotions were all over the place, and when he opened his eyes to Harold kicking his trousers away and bending to undo Johns boxers (they’d wisely stripped him before tying him down) his teeth clenched lest the moan erupting from his chest reach outside the room.

“Harold, Harold, God, I need- I need –“

“I know, John, it’s alright…”

He did moan this time, age old issues making his bones melt and his gut seize at the sincere reassurance in Harold’s tone. He’d forgotten just how powerful it was, the rush that came with the knowledge you were secure and safe in someone else’s power, the ability to just give in. The only person he’d been able to do that with had been Harold, and it was like coming back to a drug after years of abstinence, of not being able to access it.

Harold seemed to remember John’s sweet spots, or maybe he’d never forgotten them, and the praise came thick and flowing, each word clouding John’s head and making his need that much more desperate. His chest was heaving now, eyes near closed, so he missed Harold’s movements, the sharp gasps that erupted, the groan that followed. But he felt it when Harold swung his legs either side of John’s and sank onto John’s length, both of them crying out as John bucked and buried himself to the hilt.

John didn’t realise he was crying until Harold’s hand caressed the side of his face, thumb swiping under his eye in that universal gesture. Opening his eyes he was shocked to see Harold’s own eyes wet, eyelashes glimmering with unshed moisture.

“Harold, love-“ He wanted the damned ties off, needed them on, needed the cutting pressure to remind him where he was, keep him tethered, needed them off so he could touch Harold, cradle his face, hold him gently.

“Shhh, it’s alright, John. It’s all okay.” John growled in frustration as Harold deflected his worry, at the same time soothing it and making his head spin.

“You-ah!” John’s eyes rolled back into his head as Harold moved, twisting his hips in an indistinguishable rhythm, leaning forwards and pressing his lips to John’s. He greeted them eagerly, starving, pressing forwards, inwards, swiping his tongue against Harold’s, hearing the breathy gasp/moan he always made when he was particularly turned on, encouraging him. He couldn’t feel the pain from his hands, from his arms where they were straining, could barely even remember it was there, especially not when Harold started talking, murmuring in his ear, reassurances and praises uttered with an almost desperate tone, breaking off mid-sentence when his breath hitched. For as much as John needed the reassurance and praise given to him, Harold needed to give it, needed to be able to tell him it was okay, it was all going to be fine, with no barriers to stop him.

They were climbing, together, each thrust sending them higher as John’s hips bucked and Harold’s fingers dug into his shoulders, each vital word expelled desperately, neither remembering where they were or why, completely lost in each other until they fell with a cry, white noise blanketing their minds and blinding their vision.

 

 

Harold sat up slowly, having buried his head into the crook of John’s shoulder at some point. John opened his eyes and stared at Harold’s face. Silence descended, and they sat, waiting for their fragile world to fall apart around them.

**Author's Note:**

> ps. ineverwritensfwimsorryitshorrible 
> 
> kudos & reviews are verrrryyy much appreciated if you can spare one minute


End file.
